Mission Impromptu
by Raveled
Summary: He should've known Roxas's sea-salt affinity wouldn't take them anywhere good. Especially in Port Royale. PWP. AxelRoxas.


**Note** - No real spoilers, but the story takes place somewhere mid-358/2 Days. This is about as close I get to fluff these days.

**Rating -** NC-17, to be on the safe side.

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After the mission, Axel loses sight of his partner.

It's a stupid thing to do, but Roxas makes it easy to be stupid. Axel keeps taking it for granted that Roxas is exactly who he thinks he is, and _he_ thinks that he's a kid. A boy, not a weapon. It's not until you see him move that you realise he cuts through the world like a Nobody, all empty graces and deadly certainty.

He steers past the scattered, stumbling waves of men, keeping to the docked ships' shadows and cursing Roxas all the while. Port Royale's busy at this time of year, bustling with sailors coming ashore and merchants come to check their shipments, all mingling in the smell of grog turned sharp with cold. The chill seeps past the coat into his bones, and he tugs the gloves a little tighter. Briefly, Axel thinks about snapping a flame awake between his fingers – but that risks getting a little too much of Superior's attention. In the _bad_ way.

And they can't afford _that_, now can they?

By questions and sheer chance, he makes his way to a bar. The place's a little more high-end than he'd expect for a corner like Port Royale, a world voted Least Likely To Get Looted By Pirates each year because it'd be like kicking over a baby's alcoholic cradle. Likely or not, though, Roxas's picked a pleasant-looking joint. The lights are low, the tables smooth and clean, and the drinks flashing past look like they have little preserved fruits floating in them. This is more than Axel can say for the other bars around the port, where the bartenders couldn't pass off things floating in the glass as being on purpose if they'd _tried_. Not even sailors would stoop to drink rum with rat tails, although they'd probably prefer them to dyed cherries, or whatever's not in season these days.

It doesn't take him long to find the kid sitting at the counter with his feet dangling, surrounded by a few new friends. Even at a bar, Roxas presents a clear target. Roxas's type always gets a certain amount of attention, no matter how young he might look – or maybe because of it. (Hey, these guys spent _months_ surrounded by salt water and moldy bread of their own free will. What were the odds that their judgment's still remotely balanced?) The coat only makes it clearer that they're not from around town. These people can scent new prey in heartbeats. They have no way of knowing that Roxas is more and less than what he looks like.

Of course, a being without memories wouldn't remember to guard against alcohol.

Catching his eye, Axel salutes ironically. Roxas straightens.

"Axel," he says. His company, sensing the edge crackling behind Axel's grin, melts into the crowd to leave Roxas alone on his stool. Roxas doesn't seem to notice. He turns back, fingers hooding his shotglass – and then he smiles. It's a furtive tilt of the lips, same as usual, low and summer-warm, but there's brilliance so vivid as to be illusory, heat rising off the earth in waves. When he speaks, his voice enunciates a little more carefully than usual, but he seems pleased with himself. "I think I learned a new trick."

"Tch. I'll just bet you did." Over his shoulder, Axel darts a sharp, scouting glare at the throng – but the strangers have already vanished. He turns again to find Roxas fixing his gaze on Axel himself. His eyes are strangely luminous, shallow and gleaming, divested of all their control. All it reflects is Axel, stark in blue shadows.

He tries to stand up and has to put a hand out to steady himself. His palm wobbles delicately before flattening against the counter, and Axel laughs. "All right, all right—" He pushes him back into the seat before he can do something like trip over his own hands and get stepped on by a sailor with heavy boots. Roxas's warmth is palpable even through the coat. Axel pulls back, leaning his elbows on the counter. "Show me what?"

"Well…" Roxas blinks, then nods. So he's not that far gone yet. "You've gotta take off your gloves."

There's a bowl of salt at his elbow, a plate of lemon slices by Roxas's, and Axel gets a very distinct feeling that he knows what's going on. He wonders how those sailors could have found and contrived to teach Roxas all of this in less than half an hour. What was it, a race? "Sorry," he says, sliding off the stool. "Rain check. Try again when you're older. This is not a place for kids, trust me."

But the kid's caught hold of his wrist, tugging at it in earnest determination. "C'mon," he says. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth's slick and shining, and Axel's own mouth dries at the sight. "They're not that bad."

Slowly, he shakes his head. "Ah, you've got to be kidding me." But he strips off his gloves anyway.

Roxas catches his hand as he reaches for the bowl. "Wait," he says, and Axel lifts his brows. "The salt can't exactly stick like that, you know." Before Axel can say a word, Roxas bends slow, sliding the finger into his mouth.

His tongue curves underneath for an instant before he starts to suck. His lips are yielding, warm against the lingering chill carried in from the dark, and a spark jolts through Axel as Roxas's eyes slide shut. Those lashes fanned at his cheek, that look of focus and the slick, smooth pressure building in him—

Then Roxas pulls away. "There," he says. His fingertips are still resting at the underside of Axel's wrist in burning points. The smile takes Axel off-guard entirely: there's no hidden meaning behind it, just an open sweetness that's crazy for Nobodies. Smiling like he means it, like there's something he likes about Axel. Axel tries to shrug it off, ignoring the sudden throb lower down. He dips his finger into the salt and holds it out again. Roxas lights up, and maybe this isn't the best time to think of him as a kid after all.

This time, there's the barest scrape of teeth, tongue-tip sliding over Axel's skin to tug fire out of his still pulse. He lets his hand drop hastily as Roxas grabs a glass and swallows, then bites into a lemon.

At first Axel thinks he's going to choke, but Roxas survives. When he glances up, he's beaming. "See?"

As it turns out, Axel discovers, Roxas is a lightweight. He gets sharper when he's drunk, each motion clearer in the shadows even as it becomes less precise. By the time he reaches for the next glass, it's no surprise that he winds up tipping over into Axel's lap instead. For a brief, stuttering beat, he's not clear at all. His palm sinks into the space beside Axel's knee. Warm fingers brush up his thigh as Roxas leans over. His hollow eyes are wide and very bright.

"Hey," he breathes. Laughter curves the edge of his voice.

_Three inches to your left_, Axel thinks. His voice comes out a little rough. "Yo. Having fun?"

"I don't know," Roxas says. He's not moving away. "You tell me." He tilts his head. "Hey, are you okay? You're all red."

"Yeah, yeah," mutters Axel. "I'm fine."

Except Roxas is leaning over exaggeratedly, a puppet with no interest in the concept of personal space. His lips are close to Axel's ear when he says, "You're kind of a bad liar."

That's a new one, Axel thinks, and part of him thinks that Roxas must be doing this on purpose – except he can't be, he isn't, there's no plan in the curve of his throat or his hand still resting too close for comfort. It's the closest call Axel wants to make for the night. "Come on," he says abruptly, "time to go, Roxas."

He pushes Roxas straight again, but Roxas just leans further into his touch. They make a patchwork effort to get off the stool. As they rise, Roxas fumbles for Axel's arm but misses twice and winds up wrapping an arm around his waist instead. Together, just so, they stumble out of the bar.

All that brilliant coordination in battle, as it turns out, comes from careful, unconscious control on Roxas's part. With his barriers down, Roxas is hard-pressed to remember where his legs are. They keep drifting together as they make their way through the evening shift. It can't be on purpose, Roxas's fingers digging just above his hip, turning to lean into him to avoid bumping into a stranger.

"You all right?"

"I don't know." Roxas frowns, trying to focus his eyes on a point. "I feel – kind of weird."

There's an alley close by. Carefully, Axel guides him into the mouth and lets him lean against the wall. Roxas doesn't let go of him, though. Not that he's surprised by that. "Define weird."

"I think..." Slowly, Roxas lifts a hand, palming his face before letting it trail down, lingering below his waist. His breath hitches.

Axel lifts his brows. He clears his throat. "Right there?"

"Y-yeah." Roxas manages, still aware enough to laugh shakily. Caught in some fascination, he palms himself through the cloth again, and this time Axel can see his coat shifting, tightening, the opaque sigh that parts his lips as he slackens to let the brick support him. He's also aware of the effect that it has on himself, watching Roxas fumble his way through touch. Part of him can't help but follow that train of thought, wonder how that look might change if his hand covered Roxas's, slid him out and dragged pleasure out for them both. But they're too exposed, and this is _Roxas_. It's the worst idea he's had all night, except it's been looping in his mind ever since the bar.

Axel makes what is, as far as he's concerned, a _noble_ effort, and catches at Roxas's wrist. "Trust me, you don't want to start—" he begins.

Roxas only trains a perplexed, feverish look on him. He's pulling his arm back, and Axel, for some reason, is going along with it until he's stopped just before him, bodies in parallel. Roxas is unreasonably warm, heat high in his skin, cheeks, frame. Their combined movements move into an impromptu stroke, and Axel feels him harden underneath their overlapping fingers.

He could push it away, of course, but why waste the opportunity? Roxas wants this, has no idea why he shouldn't, and the look he sends up is nearly a plea, easy and wanting.

Axel gives in. "Just this once," he tells Roxas, though maybe he's saying it to himself too. The rest of it happens in a flurry – Axel rucks up the hem of the coat, spits into a hand twice and shoves it in, watching Roxas's heavy-lidded eyes track and register the motion without understanding until Axel's palm closes around him. _Then_ he arches with typical teenage boy desperation. His hip digs into Axel's thigh at an angle as the latter slides Roxas's cock out.

Part of him can't stop calculating the risks even as he settles into a rhythm, listening to Roxas's soft, desperate noises. They're only halfway inside the alley, still in plain sight of the street. Anyone could catch them, catch Axel with one hand dragging smooth strokes, catch Roxas with his rounded mouth and his nails dragging at Axel's bracing arm – and maybe that's part of the thrill. His own pants are tightening as Roxas shivers, and he can't help pressing Roxas into the wall, keeping the hot slickness of skin on skin, palming Roxas in unsteady motions. The open coat shields his hand from view as his motions jerk a little more roughly and he feels Roxas respond. He's wordless by now, clutching at Axel, gasping loud and ragged – but it wouldn't do to have them caught, would it? To hush him, Axel leans down, kisses him and licks the salt right from his mouth. The stinging twist of tequila threads a line of heat between his own legs until he's shuddering too, gritted teeth and shimmering vision.

They're pushed close enough that he can feel it when Roxas comes, feel the convulsions shake him and the cry caught between his teeth. His hips jerk, and then his knees are buckling as his come spatters the ground, the edge of Axel's palm and coat. Then he buckles, and Axel barely has enough warning to brace for his weight.

After a moment, he slides his fingers free. Roxas takes the opportunity to pull himself upright, clothed leg dragging lightly against Axel's thigh. His wide-awake glance and the trapped friction between their bodies is just painstaking enough to make Axel harder. He could come just like this, Roxas pressed against him.

And Roxas tilts his head, considering. Then he clasps the back of Axel's neck and leans up to run his tongue over Axel's lower lip.

He barely has a thought to spare for how Roxas could've thought to do that. It's a sloppy kiss, awkward with how far down Axel has to lean, but this is _Roxas_, looking at him with absolute trust and Axel groans. He's aware that Roxas is watching him with fixed, steady eyes, that it's Roxas's hand sliding into the scant space between their bodies seemingly by instinct. Fingers graze his stomach and stroke lightly across where his cock's stiff beneath his coat. By now, Axel's close enough that the little touch is all he needs. He bites down a louder noise, and tries not to shake too hard, bracing himself for the impact. It's out of control, the cold and Roxas all heat pressed up against him. He comes an instant later, the sputter a thick mess inside his trousers.

Heavier thoughts hover at the borders of his mind: something about taking advantage, and oh what _Saix_ would say if he found out. It occurs to him that this is, maybe, the stupidest mistake in a series of stupid mistakes beginning with ever chasing after Roxas in Twilight Town when he'd first joined. Nothing's getting simpler. Right now, though, there's nothing to think about: just the two of them leaning together a little raggedly in the aftermath.

It's Axel who breaks the silence. "Color me impressed," he drawls, masking the surprise with airiness. _Not that Nobodies can be surprised anyway, right?_ "You really _do_ learn fast."

But, unfocused or not, the eyes that flicker up seem to see through him anyway. "Well," Roxas says right back, a slight quirk to his mouth, "I guess the incentive was pretty good."

Twice in an evening. _Man, oh man, _Axel thinks dryly, _Roxas, don't go picking up hidden depths on me now. _He works the cracks from his neck, feeling the sticky shift of his trousers against him – ick, and isn't _that_ going to be pleasant to explain to whoever's on laundry duty this week. "All right. I give up." Carefully, they adjust themselves, the darkness providing a chilly, convenient cover. A portal flares open, perhaps a little more hastily than usual. "Looks like we're going to have to pawn new clothes."

He drops an arm around Roxas's shoulders. Roxas makes a sleepy, warm sound, almost a laugh, low as a promise in his throat. "Hey – Axel."

"Yeah?"

But Roxas seems to change his mind. Instead, he pauses by the portal to flash Axel a crooked smile. There's hardly anything to suggest that he's just downed a few shots in an evening, not to mention gotten a handjob in an alley. "C'mon. Let's get back to the castle. Mission accomplished, right?"

Axel stares, then barks a laugh. "Yeah," he grins as they walk through the shadows together. "Mission accomplished."

**end**

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End file.
